


the memory keeper

by dustbear



Series: the tiny spaces [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Amnesia, BAMF Maria Hill, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbear/pseuds/dustbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Former military?” Phil asks.</p><p>“Yes. Navy. Hospital Corps.”</p><p>“Nurse?” he asks, realizing that he’s made a mistake the moment the words leave his mouth.</p><p>She scowls. “No,” and doesn’t clarify further.  </p><p>So, Recruit Phil Coulson and Recruit Maria Hill do not get off on the right foot.</p><p>Later, he finds out that she’s First Lieutenant Maria Hill, recruited from the Navy, and she is one of the most badass reconnaissance diver medics that ever was, the youngest person to qualify and serve with her specialized search and rescue unit, has a list of commendations as long as his arm, and he is suitably impressed.</p><p>She finds out that Phil Coulson is a former Army Ranger, and she doesn’t give a shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion fic to "[remember when](http://archiveofourown.org/works/747976)," which is a Clint/Coulson fic (http://archiveofourown.org/works/747976). I'd probably recommend reading that first, if you haven't, because I'm not sure how this one stands alone!
> 
> This is primarily a Phil and Maria buddyfic, although it rehashes some of the Clint/Coulson stuff from "remember when" in later chapters.

Phil Coulson first notices her at the Orientation breakfast, because she is standing at parade rest by the door, looking a bit lost and uncomfortable. She is the only woman in the room, the only one dressed formally, and quite young, although she is probably older than she looks. Recruited away from a second military re-enlistment, he thinks. Around her, the other recruits are chatting it up, and Phil Coulson can guess that this class is probably largely stolen from MIT, based on the preponderance for flannel shirts in the room. He sympathizes with her - he’s a new recruit too, although he’d served with Nick Fury for years in the Army, before Nick was tapped by SHIELD. This orientation, as well as the junior agent training and qualification exams to come, are largely a formality - SHIELD already had their eye on him for quite a while. Phil sidles up to her, casually.

“Former military?” he asks.

“Yes. Navy. Hospital Corps.”

“Nurse?” he asks, realizing that he’s made a mistake the moment the words leave his mouth.

She scowls. “No,” and doesn’t clarify further.  

So, Recruit Phil Coulson and Recruit Maria Hill do not get off on the right foot.

Later, he finds out that she’s First Lieutenant Maria Hill, recruited from the Navy, and she is one of the most badass reconnaissance diver medics that ever was, the youngest person to qualify and serve with her specialized search and rescue unit, has a list of commendations as long as his arm, and he is suitably impressed.

She finds out that Phil Coulson is a former Army Ranger, and she doesn’t give a shit.

\---

Agent Maria Hill is not _Agent_ Maria Hill yet, but goddamn it, _she will be_. She considers the new recruit class carefully. They won’t all make it through, and this is her competition. There are two large men, that hold themselves like Marines. She dismisses them instantly. They’re too big, too loud, too ungraceful. They may be able to win in a brawl, or a heavy artillery firefight, but she knows the work of a SHIELD agent is more finesse than fists. The kids from MIT are a larger threat, she thinks. There’s a pack of them, and they’re already friends, and look like they can work together, which is going to be very important. They are lightly built compared to the Marines, but compact, lithe and strong. She suspects that they’ve been underestimated a lot, and she won’t make the same mistake.

She writes all of this down in her scrapbook. Well, it’s not a scrapbook. It’s just a notebook, and if it it happens to be filled with bits and pieces and scraps of the detritus of her life, movie tickets and newspaper clippings and candy wrappers -  well, that still doesn’t make it a scrapbook. She’s just a compulsive note taker.

And there’s Phil Coulson. He’s quiet and unassuming(except for the part where he assumed she was a nurse, which isn’t an insult because Navy Hospital Corps Nurses are _stone cold badasses_ , but it _was_ a bit of a gendered assumption). He’s her competition. She knows about him - he a former Army Ranger, he’s Nick Fury’s friend, he’s a talented linguist, SHIELD’s been trying to recruit him for ages. She isn’t sure yet whether he’d be a better ally or an enemy.

\---

“Welcome, fresh meat. After passing your junior agent qualification exams, you will be shuffled off to further training and orientation in your assigned specialty. It is unlikely that most of you will pass. Hmm, we have a lot of nerds in this group.” Fury says, watching the MIT recruits - Nguyen, McDougall, Lee and Mendoza - shift nervously. He fixes an eye on Phil. “Don’t underestimate them. Everyone who’s gotten to this point has already passed firearms and physical training at the trainee level, which is above and beyond that expected of normal people. However, as you will find in your orientation folders, we’re not looking for normal people. Alright, pair up. Coulson and Hill. Mendoza and Brown. Carter and Lee. Nguyen and McDougall. Change into combat gear and meet at Obstacle Course Four in ten minutes.”

Hill looks aghast at her assigned partner. “I’m not going to be an asshole,” Phil says, reassuringly. “Good,” Hill answers sharply. Perhaps they’ll be allies, then?

Obstacle Course Four is pretty fucking difficult. The junior agent recruits throw themselves against the first wall, nine feet high and muddy, with minimal handholds,  but only Carter and Lee, both stocky and tall and recruited from the Marines, manage to make it over on the first try. The others slide off, over and over again, immediately getting covered in wet, gooey, slippery mud  Nguyen and McDougall, both short and slightly built like gymnasts, catch on first, using each other as leverage, pushing and pulling each other over the wall.

Coulson crouches down in front of Hill, “Here, I’ll give you a boost.”

Hill looks at him, about to refuse the help, but then takes a small running leap into his intertwined palms, and propels herself over the wall. She peeks back over the wall, grinning, hands outstretched. “Grab on,” she says, and hauls him over as well.

“Good job, Hill.” Phil coughs out, landing firmly, if awkwardly, in the mud on the other side of the wall.

“It’s Maria.”

“It’s Phil, then.”

At the end of Obstacle Course Four, Coulson and Hill. Mendoza and Brown, and Nguyen and McDougall are still standing, completely covered in mud. Carter flops over the last ledge, without Lee.

“Where is Lee?” Fury asks, staring down Carter.

“Sir, I think he might have sprained his ankle. Around Wall Six, sir?”

“That’s too bad. He’s an impressive robotics technician. Carter, pack your bags.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Did I stutter, Carter? Pack your bags.”

“But - “ Carter starts.

“Teamwork. That was a test of _teamwork_ , if it wasn’t obvious. You left your partner behind. Had you stayed until the medics arrived, you might have had a chance.”

Phil looks at Maria, and she grins back. Definitely allies, then.

\---

“So, why do you want to work for SHIELD” Maria asks, shoving the unrealistically orange cafeteria mac and cheese into her face during their training break.

“I don’t, particularly. Nick - um, Fury strong armed me into it. We were in the Rangers together. You?” 

“I’ve wanted to be a SHIELD agent since I was twelve.” she answers, confidently.

“You knew about SHIELD when you were twelve?”

“My mom was an analyst here. She retired a couple years ago. It’s hard to keep secrets from your annoying child- I might have been the only 12 year old who knew about SHIELD. And my dad’s military,” she shrugs, “It’s in the family blood, I guess.”

“Wow,” Phil says.

Turns out Phil Coulson is a pretty good guy after all, Maria writes in her notebook that night. Her handwriting is a small and neat cursive, the words coded with a simple substitution cipher.  

\---

“Fury, are you serious?” Phil groans under his breath. Obstacle Course Eight is almost completely underwater, which would explain why they had all been instructed to appear in wetsuits and fins.

Maria shrugs. “What’s the big deal? It’s like the other obstacle courses, except gravity isn’t a problem.”

“Maybe the part where we’re human and can’t breathe underwater?”

“Hmm.” she considers.

“Oh goodness, you’re a Navy diver. You’re probably a freediver too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I can only hold my breath for about four and a half minutes while swimming.” Maria assures him.

“ _About_ four and a half minutes?” Phil sighs.

“Four minutes, forty eight seconds.”

“Oh, you were just being modest.”

“What, are you scared, old man?” Maria shoves him gently.

“I’m just thirty two!” Phil sputters.

“This is an individual, timed, obstacle course. The last two recruits to hit the red buzzer at the end will not advance. Good luck, recruits!” Fury yells out.

The timer buzzes, and Maria Hill dives in elegantly into the water, her dark wetsuit streaking like a seal through the water. Phil follows, a bit less gracefully.

The water is cold, and his mask fogs up immediately. Ahead is the mouth of a narrow tunnel, that the other recruits are already swimming through. He kicks up the the surface to take another breath, noticing that only Mendoza is still treading water in the first part of the course.

“Mendoza?”

“Coulson.” Mendoza answers, a grim look on his face.

“Um, do you know how to swim?” Phil questions.

“A bit.” Mendoza says, resigned.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to just hold on to me?”

“If you don’t mind.” Mendoza responds, looking hopeful.

The water is still cold, but Phil navigates the first couple of tunnels easily, coming up for air in between, even with Mendoza attached to his back. Mendoza is fairly calm, and isn’t much of a burden.

It is at the third tunnel, where Phil realizes he’s made a mistake. The first two tunnels had opened back up to the surface. The third tunnel opens up into a tiny, narrow, crevasse of an air pocket surrounded by hard concrete, with only space for one person’s head. Over him, Mendoza is still clinging to his back, quite a bit more frantically now.

Well, Phil never thought he tended to make good decisions. He drags Mendoza up to the air pocket, leaving the man to tread water, gasping for air. Mendoza might not pass the course, he thinks, but at least he won’t die. However, Phil’s air supply is also running dangerously low, and his lungs are starting to ache. Phil yanks on Mendoza’s leg, but only gets kicked away in response, an oversized fin slapping against his face. No sharing then, Phil thinks, getting a bit drowsy,  pleading his lungs to hold on a bit longer. He scrambles for the next tunnel, hoping that it opens up into a larger air hole. He can come back for Mendoza once he knows when the next air is.

He makes it through the next tunnel, a thankfully short one, lungs bursting, breaking for the surface  - and hits his head on a foam ceiling. The surprise makes him exhale the last of the air from his lungs, and he has a momentary burst of relief from the pressure release until he realizes that he needs to take a breath very soon, and he’s still underwater. He forces himself to stay calm, and not give in to the instinct to breathe in, even as he feels his brain begin to fade and drift slowly.

And then, Maria is there, pressing her lips to his. He is momentarily shocked - this is certainly the oddest way he thought he’d die, although death from being kissed by a terrifyingly competent woman isn’t the worst way to go. But she forms a suction around his lips, and transfers her breath of air into his lungs, clamping his lips closed immediately. She points backwards - not forwards - and drags him through the previous tunnel. He sees Mendoza being taken away by two divers, breathing from a shared respirator, and he shoots himself up to the small air pocket, desperately gulping breaths of fresh air. Maria pulls on his leg, softly but firmly, and he slips back underwater, letting her come up for air.

When she ducks back down, she points to the previous tunnel and starts swimming towards it. Phil is confused, but follows.

“Okay, here’s the plan of the rest of the obstacle course.” she says, when they both emerge at the surface. “You have to hold your breath through one more tunnel after that last one. After that, there are underwater respirator stations. Are you okay?”

She actually looks concerned, Phil thinks.

“Yes.” he assures her, and dives back down underwater.

Phil makes it through the next two tunnels, the knowledge of what’s ahead allowing him to conserve his energy and breath appropriately. When he emerges from the fourth tunnel, Maria is already waving a respirator at him. Together, they navigate the rest of the obstacle course, regularly stopping for air, which proves to be fairly uncomplicated. Maria swims behind him, and when he glances back to check on her, she shoots him a look that says “Really, Coulson? I’m fine.”

They make it to the end. Phil hits the buzzer, as does Maria. They emerge to see the rest of the class, minus Mendoza, waiting. Fury nods at them, and looks down at his clipboard.

“Brown. Good job. You’re a former Olympic swimmer, so we expected you to do well. However, you left your partner behind.”

“But this was an individual trial- “ Brown stammers.

“Nguyen and McDougall. Impressive job pretending to be in trouble, especially the part where you commandeered backup breathing apparatus from our rescue divers. Dangerous, but very impressive.” Fury smiles. Those two had lots of potential.

“Coulson. Good job helping Mendoza through the obstacle course. However, that was a bad decision. Not helping him with the course would have been safer for both of you.”

“Is he okay?” Phil asks.

“He’s being treated for shock, but he’s fine.”

“Hill. You had almost completed the entire course, and you were in the lead by thirty seconds. Why did you go back for Coulson?” Fury looks at Hill curiously.

“He’s my partner, sir.” Hill answers immediately.

“These were individual trials. He was not your partner.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You hit the buzzer last, Hill.” Fury says. 

Phil’s mouth drops open. _No_. There’s absolutely no way that Hill can give up her potential SHIELD career for him. He really doesn’t need SHIELD as much as Maria does. He’d be perfectly happy going back to grad school, finishing his degree, teaching Medieval Literature and Linguistics to snotty undergraduates for the rest of his life. He’s seen plenty of action in his Army Ranger days, and he doesn’t crave it. But Maria - Maria’s entire career trajectory has led to this. She actually _wants_ to work for SHIELD, that crazy girl.

“Yes, sir.” Maria says, her face still, and without expression.

“Sir, I’ll go.” Phil interrupts. 

“Coulson?”

“I said, I’ll go. There is no way I would have completed the course without Hill’s assistance.”

“Hmm.” Fury smiles. “There’s no need to fall on the sword, Coulson. Brown’s leaving.”

“But, I was first on the buzzer - “ Brown complains.

“How many times do I have to say this, people? It’s about _teamwor_ k.” Fury sighs loudly.

Coulson grins at Hill, relieved. “Did you have to kiss me though, Hill?”

She shoves him hard, his fins flailing inelegantly as he splashes back into the water.


	2. Chapter 2

They alternate between outstanding teamwork and friendly rivalry. He is a better shot, ranking at the top of the class with all weapons, except with the M16 rifle, where she barely edges him out. She is slightly better at hand to hand combat, easily taking down both Nguyen and McDougall at the same time. Phil is a closer match for her in unarmed combat than the two smaller trainees are, and certainly stronger, but she just avoids him and doesn’t try to hit back and he never manages to catch her. He scores the highest marks in linguistics. She scores the highest marks in intelligence analysis. Nguyen and McDougall blow them both away in cryptography, bomb disposal, and anything to do with computers, so their heads don’t get too big.

Maria Hill fills a whole notebook with notes on SHIELD Recruit Training, and upgrades her ciphers again. "Kicked Phil's ass in unarmed combat, but he's still a better shot. Work harder, Maria," she writes.

McDougall leaves training in the last week because of a death in the family.

In the end, Nguyen, Coulson and Hill graduate the SHIELD Junior Agent Class of 1993. Nguyen is assigned to Engineering, Coulson to Linguistics and Hill to Medical.

\---

Phil Coulson asks Maria Hill on a date once, because he hasn’t really had one in a while, and Maria seems to like him well enough. Once.

“Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime.” Phil asks, casually, perching himself on the edge of her desk.

“Nope.”

“No?”

“No, I’m not attracted to you, Coulson.” she answers, not looking up from her work.

“Oh, okay,” he says, beating a hasty escape from her cubicle.

They don’t talk about it again. Maria decides not to write that one down; it’s better left forgotten.

\---

Phil knows he’s being fast tracked for a field agent role in Intelligence, so it’s not a surprise when he is told to go through the qualification tests after only a year working with the Linguistics program.

After the first few days of field agent training, he’s having doubts. It’s not that he’s not used to the dirty work of a field agent - he’s maybe just not particularly enthralled with the life of a field agent. The Linguistics department is full of new languages and sounds and accents to learn and teach and research, and by comparison, the life of a field agent with the Intelligence desk just seems to involve lots of waiting and hiding...sometimes shooting. And paperwork. So much more paperwork.

Then his assigned partner drops out, and Maria Hill shows up.

“I thought you were going to run Medical someday, not get dirty in the field?” Phil asks.

“SHIELD is hedging their bets. If I pass field agent training, they’ll pay for my doctorate  in Kinesiology.” she offers.

“Really.” Phil is a bit suspicious.

“And also, maybe Fury thought you could use some competition. You were starting to look a bit bored, old man,” she grins.

Surprisingly, the notion of field agent work gets a lot more interesting with Maria running by his side, constantly making fun of his age, endurance and arthritic knees(his knees are _fine_ , she is just a jerk).

They pass the qualification tests to be full fledged field agents at the same time. Technically, Phil passes a couple days before Hill does, but her scores are higher by a couple of points, so they agree that it’s a draw. She makes him write that concession down, so Phil writes “Field Agent Training. Hill=1. Coulson=1” on a napkin in clear block print for her. She gleefully files it away in her notebook..

\---

The first time Coulson is sent out in the field, Hill sleeps in the medbay. She frets about him, she can’t help it, and she hopes he does not show up in Medical.

Coulson does come to Medical, at four in the morning. Maria looks him over with relief from across the room. He appears unharmed, only a couple minor scrapes, already cleaned. But, he is holding - no, cradling - a lumpy package in his right arm, and holding a small duffle bag in the other.

“Phil, what is that?”

The lumpy package cries, loud and shrill. Phil looks a bit shellshocked. “A baby? A girl. Her name is Indira?”

“Phil. You’re kidding. Where is she from?”

“Um, India? Where I just was. An orphanage. Well, sort of...she was going to go into an orphanage.”

“Coulson. Seriously. Did you just illegally transport a human child across - oh goodness, and with SHIELD property?”

“Er, did I?” Phil has been awake for seventy hours, and he’s not doing too well.

“Dammit Phil, give her to me.” Maria reaches out and takes the child. “Did someone change her diaper?”

“Um.” Phil says.

The duffel bag has diapers and baby formula, and Maria talks Phil through a diaper change and bottle feeding. Phil watches as Maria turns a crate into a makeshift crib, blankets it, and lays the now-silent child down in it. They watch the baby sleep.

“You’re good with kids.” Phil says.

“You’re not.” Maria answers. “How did you even manage - “ she starts, turning back to Phil, but he just sinks his face into his arms and mumbles, “Thanks, Maria.”

“Whatever the story is, Phil, I’m sure you did the right thing,” Maria reaches out to punch his shoulder, but he’s already asleep, slumped sitting down against the wall. She drops a blanket over him.

It’s a bit of a political nightmare, but SHIELD works it out with the Indian embassy, and the little girl is adopted by a pair of retired SHIELD agents in Portland.

\---

Maria’s first mission as a field agent is uneventful. She returns to base on February 14th, Valentine’s Day, and the place is quiet and calm, but she can see the light on in Phil Coulson’s tiny broom-closet office from the outside of the building.

“Hey Phil. No special lady tonight?” she says, nudging his door open, hands behind her back.

Phil raises an eyebrow, paused over a stack of paperwork.

“I brought you flowers,” Maria says brightly, and places a small glass vase of roses on his desk, “They’re yellow. Because you’re my friend.” she explains.

“How do you even know the meaning of flower colours?” Phil furrows his brow at the sturdy looking yellow roses.

“I was just undercover as a florist’s assistant. It was dull. The briefing packet was like reading an issue of Seventeen. Red roses are for love. Pink means like. White means you expect your date to be a virgin, or something. Did you know that florist wire makes an amazing garrote, though?”

Phil stares.

“I’m kidding, that was a joke” Maria says. She’d always had an odd sense of humour. “I never had to use it. No one died,” she laughs, reassuringly.

“No special man for you tonight?” Phil asks.

Maria raises an eyebrow.

“Or...special lady?” Phil realized he wasn’t really all that sure which team Maria Hill batted for.

Maria chuckles. “None of your business, Coulson.” she says, slumping down in his couch. “How come you get all the fun missions? I just spent two weeks arranging flowers, and today was hellish.”

“You look famished. Wanna eat?” Phil asks.

“Oh god, yes.” Maria sighs, her stomach audibly growling.

It turns out that finding a restaurant without reservations on Valentines’ Day is a surprisingly difficult task. Maria gets impossibly grumpy, and Phil decides that bribing a maitre’d isn’t really particularly unethical. And that’s how Maria Hill and Phil Coulson end up spending Valentine’s Day together, in an obnoxiously fancy restaurant, making fun of the moony-eyed couples scattered around them. The portions are small, and Phil knows what post-mission hungry looks alike, so he lets her eat all his mashed potatoes as well.

“That was surprisingly fun,” Hill says, at the end of the night, and Phil agrees.

So, the next year, on Valentines’ Day, Phil stops by Maria’s office, in a nice suit, holding yellow flowers, and informs her they have reservations at a stupidly fancy place. She borrows a dress from the undercover wardrobe department. It becomes a tradition. Their normal schedules tend to largely conflict, so their recurring annual Valentine’s Day appointment is practically the only time they actually leave base and hang out together. They set up a recurring annual email reminder. Every year, February 14th.

Maria fills notebooks with pressed yellow flower petals. She has a large stack now, carefully filed away in her bookshelf chronologically. The ciphers change with almost every notebook, but she remembers them all, even the one she made when she was 5 that really just involved writing in a modified Pig Latin.

They start to plan the restaurant reservations like a complex mission, discussing how to get the best tables at the fanciest places for the most over-the-top and absurd Valentines’ Day meals. Hill usually buys a new dress for the occasion now. Phil wears his best suit. They split the check.


	3. Chapter 3

They check in with each other after their individual missions - just a short note or voicemail, for reassurance that no one’s dead.

She patches Phil up if he returns from missions a little too beaten up, and he often skips all the other medics, and waits for her to do so. The truth is, Maria knows that he doesn’t love needles, so she uses the small butterfly needles when he needs blood taken, and doesn’t tell anyone.

Phil has one of her secrets too - he knows she is capable of laughing. Everyone else thinks that Maria Hill is an uptight bitch, and she makes no effort to dissuade the image.

Phil tells her about his Captain America obsession, and his vintage card collection. That might have been a mistake; she just made fun of him. A lot, and quite consistently. But on his birthday, seven years into their tenure at SHIELD, she places one of the last Captain America cards he’d been looking for in his inbox. It’s not in perfect mint condition, but it’s perfect.

They’ve never been assigned on a mission together, but they eat lunch together a couple times a month, when they’re in the same place at the same time. Phil knows that Maria really likes the mac and cheese. He doesn’t understand that.

They’re not the same sort of people. Phil is sentimental, hopeful; Maria is logical, often morbid. Phil believes in the greater good of his job, that he will save lives, but he sees the nuances of the in-betweens, the imperfect goods, and the justified evils. Maria sees enemies, and she will outwork them, outsmart them, and defeat them. The only thing they really have in common is the ability to file paperwork like a hurricane. Sometimes, they have requisition form-filling contests.

The years fly by.

Agent Maria Hill does a tour through the different departments for a few years, keeping pace with Coulson as he rises through the ranks. Agent Phil Coulson becomes assistant director of Intelligence.

\---

“So,” Maria starts, one day, sitting in the cafeteria.

“So?” Phil answers.

“Nick Fury is officially going to be director of S.H.I.E.L.D.” she states.

“And...?”

“And rumour is you’re going to be his right hand man.” she stares at him, trying to read his impassive face.

“Is that so?” Phil tries to look innocuous.

“Are you going to do it?” she leans halfway across the table, conspiratorial.

Phil looks up at Maria. Well, he hasn’t lied to her before, and he’s probably not going to do so now.

“I was. But there’s been a change of plans.” he admits.

“What? Phil - you’ve been groomed for that position for over a decade.” Maria looks baffled.

“Do you know Clint Barton?” Phil asks. She knows him, of course. Everyone on base knows him.

“Hawkeye? I did a stakeout with him last month. Jesus, that man does not stop talking. Pissed his handler off royally, but he is the best shot I’ve ever seen, by far. Practically miraculous.”

“Well, we’re out of handlers for him. No one in our current pool will take him on.”

“Really? I mean, he’s an ass, but he’s not impossible.”

“That’s what I told Fury.”

“Wait - Phil, really? You’re essentially taking a demotion to play field agent handler?” Hill asks, suddenly understanding. “Oh my god, you’re really going back into the field.”

“My pay grade and clearance level stays the same. I keep the office too.”

“You really see something in that kid, huh?” she says, perplexed.

Phil just shrugs. Agent Phil Coulson becomes Hawkeye’s permanent handler. Agent Maria Hill becomes assistant director of SHIELD operations, the youngest in SHIELD’s history.

\---

When Clint Barton brings in Natasha Romanoff, and they’re on the long flight home and Phil has done all the paperwork he can, he sneaks away into a corner and calls Maria.

“Everything okay, Coulson?” she asks, picking up on the second ring.

“I just wanted to warn you. I’ve just met the only woman in the world more terrifying than you are, and she’s going to come work for us.” Phil says, deadpan.

Hill laughs, and hangs up on him.

\---

“Hill.” Phil says, the moment Hill picks up the phone.

“Coulson.” she answers.

“They’ve found Captain America.”

“Tell me how you feel about that, Phil.” Maria suggests, holding her laughter in as Phil collapses into a rambling pile of glee on the other end of the line.

Later, when the Captain is defrosted, and apparently enlisted back into action, she recommends to Fury that Agent Phil Coulson should have a hand in the costume redesign. Maria doesn’t believe in superheroes, but Phil’s delighted.

\---

“Barton’s been compromised,” she says, not daring to say more to Phil. Phil - Agent Coulson - marches away from her, silent, tense. He still has a job to do as well. Later, Hill thinks, after this incident, she’ll bring some take out to Phil’s office and let him talk about Barton, but now, they have to work.

“The paramedics have called time of death,” Fury says in her ear, and Maria regrets every step in her career that has led her here, every choice she has made, every promotion and commendation and successful mission that has made her SHIELD’s assistant director instead of director of Medical - _her_ staff might have saved Phil, _her_ paramedics would not have given up so easily, _her_ doctors would have been the best and brightest, _her_ medbay would have worked miracles. _She_ could have saved Phil, she’s certain of it, and if her confidence in that wavers when they don’t even let her near Medical, she doesn’t let it show.

Fury scatters the cards - Phil’s cards - across the table in front of the Avengers. His blood, streaks red over the shiny glass table, still wet and bright.

“They needed something to believe in.” Fury says, and it is a testament to her decades of self restraint that they overcome her decades of combat training, and Fury does not get fucking punched in the face. They are not trained to play psychologist to superheroes, they are trained to fight, to dispatch resources where necessary, to have the right intelligence about the right missions and the right projects. Fury has failed her, failed Phil, failed all of them with his childish notions of gods and monsters.

She returns to her post on the Helicarrier’s command deck, and she wills away the pain, remains standing, and she works, and she takes orders, and she follows standard procedure and she does her job.

They save Manhattan, and she is wrong about superheroes, after all.

Agent Romanoff brings Barton back. No one brings Phil back.

\---

Fury sees her impassive stare, her strict adherence to routine, her repressed grief - and it is more insidiously terrifying than any amount of outward anger could be, so when weeks pass, and he finally tells her that Phil Coulson is actually alive, he does it over the phone.

Fury tells Agent Hill that Phil doesn’t remember anything, or anyone, from the past two decades, which is true. She refuses to believe it. She reads the report, she sees the words, but - no, not Phil.

“Hey, Phil.” she says, slipping into his hospital room, holding a pot of yellow flowers. The clean room scrubs that she’s wearing itch.

“Hello?“ he answers, congenially.

“Phil?”

“Hello, doctor. Is it time for my meds already?” Phil says, drowsily, and Maria’s confidence in the structure of her world shatters a little bit.

\---

Fury fidgets nervously with the papers on his desk, and Maria thinks that this is the first time she’s ever seen him so agitated. Good, she considers spitefully, he deserves to be.

“The outlook isn’t great, Hill. We’re going to transfer him to a SHIELD home for rehabilitation.” Fury states, rubbing his temples.

“Over my dead body, you are. Sorry. Over my dead body, sir.” Hill responds.

“Come again, Agent Hill?”

“I read the medical report. He needs physical therapy, speech therapy and cognitive therapy daily. He needs memory triggers, as many of them as possible. You are not taking him to a nursing home and drugging him out of his mind just so he’ll keep your secrets.”

“He doesn’t remember anything now, but the knowledge he has is dangerous. Almost two decades of our most sensitive information is possibly locked up in his head. We can’t risk it.”

“Two decades of classified information in his head means he is an _asset_ , not a _problem_. I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do what?”

“Give me the safehouse in Portland. He grew up in Portland, and the report says that he remembers his first two decades just fine, so it’ll be familiar territory. I’ve already coordinated a speech and cognitive therapist from medical; she is a qualified field agent and her clearance level is only a level below his. She’s willing to transfer to the Portland field office for six months.“

“And you?”

“I’m going to stay with him. I’ll run his physical therapy program myself, which I’m more than qualified to do. You know my clearance level. Would you prefer I submit a vacation request or leave of absence?”

“You know, Hill, I chose you as my lieutenant because you were _loyal_.”

“I _am_ loyal, sir.” she says, and Fury gets the point.

“And what exactly do you think you will accomplish, Agent Hill?” Fury asks, obviously fatigued.

“I’ll bring Agent Phil Coulson back, of course.” she answers, confidently.

She’s never been so uncertain in her life, actually, but she holds her head high and glares back at Fury, and Fury gives her the safehouse in Portland.


	4. Chapter 4

“Do I know you from somewhere, Doctor?” Phil asks her, and she can’t tell him, can’t mention that they’ve been friends from decades, that actually, yes, he’s her best friend - the danger of accidentally implanting false memories in his brain is far too great, the possibility of altering the blank slate of his mind is too dangerous.

“Yeah.” she says, “You’ll remember soon.”

Phil is polite. He calls her “Agent Hill” or “Doctor.”

Phil knows Maria, he’s certain of it. There’s something about her. Yellow roses and notebooks, he thinks. He wants to ask, but she’s all work, and business, and therapy, and she makes him work harder and better, until his legs ache, and his muscles are sore.

Maria teaches him to walk again. She teaches him to run. She writes in her notebooks, writes down the Phil Coulson that he is now, and she does not read her older notes, she does not dwell on the Phil Coulson that was.

She sits in on the cognitive therapy sessions, watches him remembers the vague outlines of being a SHIELD agent. He insists on taking their qualification tests, so she begs Fury to let him at least go to the range and shoot, and grimaces beside him when his shots are awful, missing the mark by several inches. He keeps on trying, and he keeps on failing, and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, because his scores are inching upwards with every futile attempt.

She plays Scrabble with him. She wins, many times in a row, and then he starts winning, and she can’t beat him anymore.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever have Phil, her friend, back. But, she still isn’t going to give up on Agent Phil Coulson.

\---

“Barton.” Phil says, in the middle of their physical therapy session, and she hears the name loud and clear.

“What?”

“Barton. Clint Barton.” Phil repeats. “That’s someone I know.”

“Yes, Phil, it is.” she affirms.

“Hawkeye.” Phil lights up.

She calls Fury first, “Coulson remembers Specialist Barton. Can you send him in?” Barton is on a mission, Fury answers. She calls again the next day, and the next, and she’s positive that Fury is a lying liar who lies. It is very unlikely that Clint Barton is on a mission; he hasn’t gotten a new handler, and most of the agents on the helicarrier still stare and whisper about him. She yells at Fury, begs him even, but Fury does not send Clint Barton to Portland..

So, she contacts Natasha. “Agent Romanoff? I’m trying to complete some paperwork to...close Phil Coulson’s personnel file, and I’m missing a medical directive form from two years ago. I believe you or Barton might have a photocopy?” she says, hoping that Natasha understands the hidden meaning behind her words. There’s an inconsistency in those forms, she knows, because she and Phil have talked about death many times(it’s just a thing you do, when you work for SHIELD), and he’d always wanted to be cremated. She has some of those conversations logged in her notebooks. But there was a coffin at the memorial. Everyone saw a coffin, purporting to hold Phil’s body. The premise is ludicrous; she has never lost any paperwork, much less from a personnel file. It is such a thin, flimsy trail to follow, but maybe it’s enough to make them start asking questions.

Natasha and Clint do ask lots of questions, and in three days, there is a knock at the front door, and she opens it to find Specialist Clint Barton, red eyed and rumpled.

She’d never been too partial to Clint Barton before, but if Barton is important to Phil, then by gods, she will try to like the man.

Phil’s memories come back when Clint is around. Clint isn’t allowed to tell Phil about their past, but it’s obvious that Phil is pulling in threads of his memories that revolve around Clint, and he’s linking them together quickly, following them to his most important memories.

She can’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy - not that Phil is obviously head over heels for Clint, she’d never thought of Phil as anything more as a friend, but that she’d promised Fury that she would bring Phil Coulson back, and now Clint was doing the job instead. Clint is Phil’s _light_ , his path, his guide, she thinks. Well, she’s adaptable. The mission objectives have not changed. They'll get Phil Coulson back. 

\---

It’s the most frustrating block in his head, Phil thinks. Agent Hill, is his physical therapist, is Doctor Hill, is Agent Maria Hill, is Maria Hill, is Maria, his friend - isn’t she? He knows her, he does, he’s known her for a long time, but all his memories of her are caught up in the scratch of her ballpoint pen on smooth paper. He wants to ask, but the memories slip back away from Maria to Agent Hill to Doctor, and he forgets - forgets to ask who she is. She is his physical therapist, she is Agent Hill, she’s taught him how to run again, and yellow flowers become a yellow fog.

Agent Hill arranges for Barton to take over all her own watch duties, assigns him to spend as much time around Coulson as possible, and she fades away into the background.

Barton appears, and Coulson remembers the name of the requisition form for his carbon shaft arrows, the ones that SHIELD does not keep in standard inventory. Maria writes that one down on her clipboard, and then files it neatly into her personal notebook. Phil sees her do it and something familiar tickles at the edge of his brain. What else have you written down, Agent Hill? What else have you recorded? What parts of my life have you archived away in rumpled dog eared notebooks, and will you please tell me? He doesn’t ask.

Barton brings Coulson two suits, and Coulson relearns how to tie a half Windsor knot.

Barton cooks for Coulson, and he remembers meals in small safehouses.

Agent Hill graduates Phil from physical, speech and cognitive therapy. They’ve done what they can, for months, and he’s done so well, and come so far. She has filled two more notebooks. The notes log Phil's progress; they are not sentimental.

Barton dances around Phil, hesitantly, timidly, and she can see the fear and anxiety, but also unyielding adoration in his every interaction.

She gets used to Clint’s presence; it feels like passing on the reins to the younger man. Barton hovers over Phil, and she learns to trust him, trust that there isn’t anything Clint won’t do for Phil, if he asked, and even if he didn’t.

\---

And then, the idiot archer actually tries to leave, and she walks on him packing his bags.

“Stay, Barton.” she says, pleads, almost begs. “It’s not just a matter of SHIELD assets, you know? I - I want Agent Coulson back too.”

Clint just looks back blankly at her.

“I know that you pretend to be dumber than you actually are, but if you can’t tell that Coulson clearly cares a lot about you, you really are an goddamn idiot,” Maria swears, frustrated. 

“What do you mean?” Clint is blank faced, confused.

“Literally every thing he remembers has something to do with you. This could not be more obvious, right? Look. I’m pretty sure you care about him too, and in _that_ way. But just in case you decide to be even more of an idiot than you’re already being, here’s a warning. Break his heart, and I will _personally eviscerate you_.” Maria is appropriately threatening, and she feels like maybe Phil Coulson doesn’t need her to mama-bear for him, but by gods, Clint is really being dense.

“Right.” Clint mutters. “So, you think I should...talk to him?”

“Barton, for fuck’s sake,” - finally, she yells at Barton, tells him he’s an idiot, and then Barton finally tells Coulson that he _likes_ him, _finally_.

Phil is so, so, so glowingly happy that she can’t help but grin whenever she glances over at his face.

And Phil - Phil is in love, he is inspired and alight, but there is still something, something he can’t quite wrap himself around, something elusive - he is still adrift, and he can’t quite figure it out. There is a girl, she is fierce, unyielding, but her features are blurred like water. She laughs when she scowls, she laughs. But then there’s Clint, arms wrapped around his waist, nose buried in the back of his neck, and all there is is warmth and he forgets what he was looking for.

Maria Hill doesn’t have much to do anymore, so she works out of the Portland field offices and just regularly delivers unredacted mission reports to the safehouse for Phil to read.

Coulson’s doing well. Coulson’s doing really, really well. Phil Coulson and Clint Barton move into Stark Tower, and Agent Maria Hill returns to headquarters.

“Good job, Hill.” Fury commends her.

“It was mostly Barton, sir.” she evades.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Hill. You did good.”

She offers to be Barton’s new handler, partnering him with Agent Romanoff again. Mostly, she’s a fairly hands-off sort of handler, and trusts Romanoff and Barton to do their jobs - and they do their jobs very well. If Specialist Barton perhaps gets assigned fewer life threatening missions for a while, she refuses to admit that she has anything to do with it at all, or any vested interest in keeping Phil’s archer a little bit safer.

Agent Maria Hill goes back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, thank you all for your comments on this fic so far. I really appreciate all of them. I promise this gets resolved in the next chapter. :)


	5. Chapter 5

  
Phil’s memory comes back, in pieces, supplemented by mission reports and newspapers and books, but there’s a nagging gap he can’t quite explain. He does not dream of Clint when Clint is asleep, burrowing into his side, because he already has Clint, and he remembers everything about Clint. He dreams of a stern, serious girl with fire in her eyes. She stands in a field of yellow roses, and she holds a book filled with his memories. She kisses him without passion; she saves his life.

“Run faster, old man” she says, mockingly, laughing, and he does.

He passes his qualification tests, and Agent Hill is there smiling, applauding him. “Good job, Coulson,” she says, but it’s not the words he expects. “Not bad for an old man,” - the unspoken words echo, rattle in his brain, and he just can’t figure it out.

A year and two months after his death, Phil Coulson becomes Agent Phil Coulson again.

Maria Hill drops off a pile of paperwork on his desk the first day, noting that she isn’t the first; there are already neat piles all over the desktop.

“Welcome back, Agent Coulson.” she says, a small hitch in her voice.

“Thank you, Maria. For _everything_ ,” Phil answers, trying out her first name, sensing the familiar sound. She wonders if he really remembers her at all; he wonders if she understands.

\---

He sits at his desk at SHIELD Central, familiar and foreign all at once, shuffling his paperwork. Something is all wrong. He has it all back, doesn’t he? He has Clint, he has his job, he is Agent Phil Coulson again. No, there is something else. Something is amiss, he is unmoored.

Agent Hill. Agent Maria Hill. Maria Hill. Maria? He has to find out. He can take the coward’s way out, and read her personnel file and hopefully find an answer, but Phil Coulson has never been a coward. He walks down the corridor to her office, and his steps ring out loudly, and the corridor feels abnormally long. A nervous junior agent leaves her office trembling; he slips in afterwards, no less scared.

“Hill.” he starts.  
“Coulson?” she says, peering up over her work.

Phil Coulson pulls up a chair to her desk, the metal scraping on old linoleum. “I’m going to apologize, because there is no nice way to say this, but I don’t remember everything about you.”

“Coulson, I directed your therapy program for months, I already know that.” she frowns, dismissing him.  
“No, I want to remember the rest,” he pleads, hearing his voice come out stringy and narrow.  
“It’s fine, Coulson, don’t worry about it.” Hill sighs, waving him away. “You have all the important parts.”  
“I’ve reviewed all the paperwork I can. We’ve never been on a mission together. We’ve never worked in the same unit, or the same department. But I know you, and I’m certain that I care about you, and I need to know.” Phil repeats the facts. She likes facts, he assumes correctly.  
  
She looks up, hesitant.

“Agent Hill - please. Will you help me?” he asks, honestly.

Maria looks at him for a moment. This is Phil, guileless and open. Is it _her_ Phil? Probably not, but maybe she ought to be selfish, and not just settle for Agent Phil Coulson. Maybe she can have Phil back, her friend - if she only asked.

She walks over to her bookshelf, runs her fingers across the aged spines, and pulls out notebook number twenty four.

“We met at recruit training,” she says, handing it to him.

He opens the book to a page in the front. Her handwriting is neat and loopy, and the letters form short ciphered words, but it is a very simple cipher and Phil knows his basic cryptography and translates it in his head.

“Phil Coulson is a dick.” he reads.  
She reaches over and flips a couple more pages for him with a wry smile.  
“Phil Coulson is a pretty good guy, after all.” Phil reads again.

  
“We’re friends.” Maria offers.  
“We’re friends.” Phil repeats, clutching the book like a lifeline.

“That notebook covers all of basic training. I’ll give you the next one after that.” Maria says, a small smile on her face.

They met at recruit training. Maria is his competition. Maria calls him an old man. Maria is his partner. Maria saves his life. Maria is his friend. Phil blinks and suddenly he is well aware that the woman in front of him is his anchor, his keystone, his rock, and he owes her _everything_.

“Don’t cry in front of me, Coulson” she commands, but her voice is light, and her eyes smile.  
“Can you tell me if I like rye toast?” Phil pushes a little.  
“You hate rye toast.” she answers immediately.  
“Thanks, Hill.”  
“It’s Maria.”  
“It’s Phil, then.” Phil grins, slipping back out.

\---

Remembering Maria is a lot more difficult that remembering Clint.

Remembering Clint is irrational, all endorphins and barely any logic, instinctive and heart-driven. Clint is a bright light, pouring into his head, a glowing beacon of hope, of love, of devotion. Clint is brazen, insistent, impossible to forget.

Maria is subtle. Maria is as elusive in his thoughts as she is in real life. She plays her cards close, and she has more walls up than East Berlin in 1988, but her thoughts spill out on the pages, in tiny coded words, and he realizes that he’s holding more insight in his hands about Maria Hill than anyone else has ever had. She is clinical, concise, not expressive and emotional, and her words fall accordingly. No one writes floridly in cipher, and Maria Hill is similarly practical. But, he can read between the lines.

“Requisition baby formula and diapers for medbay.” she writes, and Phil remembers how she’d sleep in medbay during his early missions, ready to repair his stupid field injuries. Butterfly needles, god bless her soul, she uses butterfly needles.

“Lunch with Phil.” she writes, and Phil remembers that she likes the awful cafeteria mac and cheese, and he remembers telling her about the low points in his missions, his mistakes and regrets.

He reads, and he reads. Clint holds his memories of bold decisions, terror filled missions, heart pounding actions and feelings and thoughts. But Maria - Maria holds his memories of the spaces between, the quiet moments in medbay, the tired lunches, the brief phone calls between missions.  
  
Maria is a rock, his rock, his anchor. She has always been there, she always will be, never presumptive, just present.

He finishes the first notebook. Her written ciphers get harder, and he can figure out which pages were written after she takes the cryptography training course. He suspects that in a couple more notebooks, he won’t be able to translate them without the help of the crypto team, and he’s smart to know that Maria’s private journals are certainly off limits to them. He doesn’t think he needs the rest though. He knows Maria, _of course_ he knows Maria.

\---

Phil walks right into Maria’s office, first thing in the morning.

“I remember you.” he states, confidently.  
“Oh?” Maria responds, a bit hesitantly  
“I remember you well enough to know that you won’t appreciate me standing here being sappy.” he says.  
“That is correct, Coulson.” she grins, and Phil thinks, yeah, she understands.  
“Thanks, Maria.”  
“You’re welcome, old man.” Maria smiles back at him, and all is right with the world.

\---

Agent Hill is Clint and Natasha’s field handler now, because Phil still isn’t cleared for more than light duty, which means that he spends most of their missions glued to his desk, with an open line to Maria Hill’s communicator.

“Coulson, need some help.” Maria’s voice rings out, sharply.  
“What is it? Talk to me, Hill.” Phil answers immediately.  
“Your goddamn archer won’t shut up.” she groans, and Phil laughs. Clint is “Phil’s archer” now, always was, always will be, no matter who his handler actually is.

“Tell him this -” and Phil whispers some extremely rude words into Maria’s comm line.  
“Coulson!” she sputters back.

Agent Maria Hill growls at Clint. “Specialist Barton. I have an extremely inappropriate message from Agent Coulson that I cannot repeat because it is actually making me blush, and I never blush. But - er, shut up, and he’ll make it worth your while.”

Barton stops talking.

“Take the shot, Hawkeye.” Hill commands.

Barton takes the shot.

“I cannot wait to return your idiot archer back to you, Coulson.” Maria sighs to Phil.

\---

Maria hasn’t realized it is Valentine’s Day; her email reminder had expired when SHIELD terminated Phil’s user accounts the first time around. She is in her office, shuffling paper in a particularly useless manner - her brain is fried, she has months of reports to read and file, not to mention finish the report for her last mission. She’s exhausted and she’s really, really hungry. She’s about to pick up the phone and get some takeout delivered to her apartment when a familiar shape fills her door.

“Coulson?” she stares at her friend, who is dressed in a dark grey suit and holding a bunch of obnoxiously yellow daffodils.  
“I pulled a favour with Stark - he owes me a few - so we have dinner at this ridiculous place. Oh, here.” Phil hands her the flowers. “Yellow, because you’re my friend, and it’s Valentine’s Day”  
“It’s Valentine’s Day?”  
“We do dinner on Valentine’s Day.” Phil reminds her.  
“Coulson - Phil, you celebrate Valentine’s Day with Cupid now. Barton? Your boyfriend?” Maria tries to explain.  
“He’s totally in on this plan, don’t worry,” he assures.  
“Oh my god, Phil, you’re going to make me be the third wheel on your romantic Valentine’s Day date. What have I ever done to you?” she groans, dropping her head on the table.  
“Oh, I dunno. Save my life, perhaps. Come on, let’s go.” Phil insists, practically shoving her out of her office.

He brings her to Stark Tower, and she follows, up the elevator, through Tony’s penthouse suite, quiet and baffled.

And the doors to the roof open and Barton - Clint - is standing there, in a - “Phil. Phil Coulson. Why is Barton wearing a frilly apron?” Hill demands.  
  
Barton is definitely wearing a frilly apron. And a chef’s hat. And fortunately, pants. There are other words to describe it, of course, like ridiculous, but the predominant word is frilly. Perhaps ruffly.

“Clint asked me what I wanted to do for Valentine’s Day. And I said, I didn’t care much for the day, but if it was okay with him, I’d like to take my best friend out for dinner, like I usually do.” Phil offers.  
“And I said I could probably cook better than any stupid overpriced restaurant, so here I am?” Clint joins in.  
“-but the apron.” Maria stutters, staring at Clint Barton.  
“That was Romanoff’s idea,” Phil and Clint say in unison. “But I sort of like it,” Clint adds.

Phil leads her to a table for two, near the edge of the newly restored roof. The lights of New York are bright and hazy, and the air is a bit chilly, but of course, even the roof of Stark Tower is heated. There are yellow roses on the table, the table is set with fine china, there are candles everywhere, and there is wine in a bucket. There is a menu too, written out on a memo pad, in Phil’s neat handwriting. A soup course, a salad, a main course, and dessert. Maria tries to read it, but her eyes are a bit hazy. Clint pulls her chair out for her.

“Are you okay, Maria?” Phil asks.  
“You kids are gonna make me cry.” she mutters, covering her face with her hands.

The dinner is delicious; Clint is a more than adept cook. Maria does finally cry a bit, over dessert, but she says it’s just because Clint’s chocolate trifle is exquisite, and Phil continues talking and pretends not to notice.

\---

Their next meal is a lot more awkward, even without the frilly apron. They’re at a bar near headquarters, and it’s thirty minutes into happy hour.

“Clint was complaining that I didn’t introduce him to my friends. So, here we go. Clint, this is Maria, my best friend. Maria, this is Clint, my boyfriend.” Phil says, grinning.  
“Er. Agent Hill. “ Clint nods.  
“Barton.” Maria responds, shifting uncomfortably.

Phil smiles congenially, as Clint Barton and Maria Hill fidget with their beers. Finally, Clint breaks the silence.

“Do you play pool, Hill?” he asks, nodding at a recently vacated table.  
“Oh, I will beat your ass, Barton.” she promises, lighting up.

Hill is actually not as good as Barton, but she does hold her own, especially against a sniper with preternaturally perfect aim. She mocks him mercilessly, though, and his shots actually falter once or twice, and Phil is amused to see her get under his skin. He gives as good as he gets, though.

“I don’t know, Hill, looks like I’m winning.” Bartin says languidly, leaning against his cue.  
“Well, you’ve got more of a predilection for balls than I do, Cupid.” Maria snarks, lining up her shot.  
“I bet Agent Coulson can write you a report about my predilection for balls.” Clint whispers innocently, and Maria misses completely, scratching the 8-ball and losing the game to Clint.  
“Christ, Barton, please don’t tell me anything about Phil’s balls.” Maria sighs, but she is grinning.  
“Best two out of three?” Clint offers, already resetting the table.  
“You’re on, kiddo.” Maria answers, and her eyes are sparkling with mischief.

Phil watches his best friend taunt his boyfriend, and he thinks that whatever else he doesn’t remember, he probably doesn’t need to. He has his light and his anchor, and between them, he is Agent Coulson, Agent Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson, just Phil, and he is alive and grounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand...we're done! Thank you for reading! Maria Hill's become one of my absolute favourite characters to write, so there'll probably be more of her soon(although not in this series; I think I'm done with this series).


End file.
